Sorry for the lengthy wait, but at least I'm giving you a nice long chapter... 13 pages. I'm not often really pleased with my writing, but I must admit that I really like how this chapter turned out. Sometimes it's as if the characters are in my mind and I'm just transcribing for them! Hopefully you all will feel the same. I'm very interested to see if others like it as well, so please let me know!
Chapter 6
The recommended recuperation time for Cameron's operation was four weeks, and she was scheduled to return to work just after Halloween. Her boredom, and House's irritation with her absence worked in tandem, and she made her reappearance at PPTH a week earlier than expected.
Foreman and Chase were both thrilled to see her back. Even though House had started conference-calling her when they went over differential diagnoses for their patients, he'd still been more of a bastard than usual the rest of the time. Foreman wasn't sure if he really missed her that much, or if it was his strange way of worrying about people that had him so on edge when Cameron wasn't around.
While Cameron had been in surgery, Foreman had accidentally seen House pacing in the clinic in between patients. The hand gripping the cane had displayed every tendon in stark relief and the other hand had been pressed against a furrowed brow. Foreman had backed away without being seen, but the image stuck with him, and he'd remembered it every time House had gotten particularly aggravating and then glanced at the phone.
Sitting on her desk when she arrived was a pound of gourmet coffee and an extremely cheesy card from her two coworkers. House had not been kind in regards to their coffee making skills while she was gone. The three of them joked around for a minute before settling down to do… nothing. Their last patient had checked out of the hospital over the weekend and there were no new ones on the horizon. It seemed that no one was coming down with any weird and impossible to diagnose ailments in the tri-state area.
Eleven o'clock and Foreman was thumbing through a magazine, Chase was biting the end of his pen looking for a fourteen letter word for "trippy" and Cameron was wondering why she'd bothered coming in. The novelty of being in the hospital rather than curled up on the sofa at House's place had definitely worn off. She was considering getting started on editing the article she'd co-authored with Foreman for the NEJM, and had just risen from her seat at the conference table when the main door swung open.
Clicking heels and a shake of a perfectly coiffed head, and Cuddy strode into the room as if she owned it, which was her usual attitude. She hadn't gotten her job by being wimpy and indecisive. Chase shoved his newspaper inside a folder and Foreman hid his copy of Vibe behind a medical textbook. Cuddy waved her hand and rolled her eyes.
"Give it up. I know you're all just hanging around doing nothing," she said, sounding more resigned than angry.
"Just waiting for a patient," Chase offered.
"Great. But in the meantime, Dr. Cameron, I need you."
Cameron's eyebrows rose in question.
"Immunology. Short staffed as usual. Dr. Chen's still gone and now Dr. Roberts is out with the flu."
House must have either heard Cuddy enter, or sensed her presence, because the door from his office opened with a clattering of wood against glass, and House limped in. "Stealing my doctors?" he asked, looking at Cuddy suspiciously.
Cuddy sighed. She'd hoped to be in and out without incident, but hadn't really expected that. "Borrowing."
"Sorry, no can do," he said firmly, leaning on his cane and staring over the tops of the other doctors' heads, and straight into Cuddy's eyes."
"Actually, I'm fine with it," Cameron interjected, but was ignored.
"You don't really get a say, House. She's needed elsewhere and she's not needed here."
"She's my employee."
"She's the hospital's employee, which actually, funnily enough, makes her my employee."
"She's not even supposed to be here for another week," House growled.
"And yet, here she sits," Cuddy replied, sounding mockingly amazed. Her voice changed tenor and she assumed a less defensive position. "Look, I'm not going to make her deadlift patients from bed to bed, House. I just need her to help out."
"I'd be happy to," Cameron tried again, but it was like trying to catch a tennis ball in the middle of a match between two top seeded players.
"And I said no," House argued.
"Look," Cuddy replied, getting frustrated, "you really don't have a say in the matter."
Cameron finally stood up, her chair squeaking as it rolled backwards. "Hello? I'm right here, and I'm not a child," she said, annoyance thick in her voice. She turned to House. "If they need me upstairs, then that's where I'm going. You can page me if we get a patient." She turned back to Cuddy. "Any patient in particular I should see first?"
Cuddy actually had the good grace to look slightly ashamed that she'd essentially been having a tug-of-war with the woman standing in front of her. "Thirty year old woman just admitted. She's got the beginnings of kidney failure and they just diagnosed lupus."
Cameron's face drew into a frown, and then a determined and thoughtful expression. "Okay, I'll get her sorted out and then talk to the head nurse up there."
She headed towards Cuddy and the door, but then turned back to the others. "I'll see you all later."
"Right. Have fun, Cam," Foreman said with a wave, and Chase seconded it with a slight nod of his head.
House had already turned to stalk back to his office.
Cameron sighed and followed Cuddy into the hallway and towards the elevators.
"It's good to have you back," Cuddy said as they walked. "Sorry about... back there," she continued, gesturing with her hands.
"It's fine," Cameron replied, feeling the tension, that had stretched across her shoulders, start to ease.
"He's in rare form today."
"Being bored does that to him."
Cuddy gave a knowing little smirk. "So does his overly possessive nature."
Aside from one rather brief conversation, right before her return to work after her attack, Cuddy had never referred to House and Cameron's relationship, even obliquely. It tilted Cameron slightly off balance and her mouth opened to respond, and then closed again. They'd reached the elevator by that point and Cuddy turned and saw the uncertainty in Cameron's expression.
"I didn't mean anything by that," she said quickly.
Cameron was still silent as they stepped aboard. Her lips pursed, then relaxed. "I don't want you to think our relationship outside the hospital affects our relationship inside it," were the words she finally settled on.
"No, I've seen the two of you when you have a patient. He's just as much an ass as always," Cuddy joked.
It was nice to feel a bit of shared camaraderie with a woman who often intimidated her, and Cameron chuckled a little bit. "No doubt about that," she replied before turning serious again, "but just now... that was over the line."
The look on Cuddy's face was one of subdued surprise and a portion of respect. "I'm sure you can handle it," she said, and then the elevator doors opened and she stepped out onto the fifth floor, leaving Cameron to ride the rest of the way by herself.
House never paged her, and at five fifteen she left the Immunology ward and took the elevator down to Diagnostics. She and House had actually driven in together, something which they rarely did, and she wondered if he'd already left. She'd have to go to an ATM and get cash if he had, because she didn't have enough on her for a cab ride home, and she'd be damned if she was going to call him if he was still acting like a stubborn ass.
She was gearing herself up to be extremely mad at him for not only treating her like a child in front of Dr. Cuddy, but also refusing to respect her abilities as a doctor. A part of her mind latched onto the certainty that he was still holding a grudge and that she would find an empty office. The more rational part of her mind told her that he wouldn't do that to her, but sometimes that rational side wasn't nearly loud enough to shout down her doubts which were particularly loud this time since they were joined by her anger. Her footsteps pounded out a staccato rhythm as she marched down the hall, and she was all ready to curse his name under her breath. Instead, she turned the corner and saw House sitting at his desk, tossing his ball into the air and looking pensive. The wind was immediately let out of her sails and her righteous indignation dwindled to semi-understanding irritation.
Her small hand rapped twice on the glass door before she pushed it open and stepped inside. She waited for it to close and then leaned against it, looking at House and noticing how very much he wasn't looking at her.
"I thought you might have left," she said, feeling a little silly now that she'd let her emotions override her trust in him.
"Nope. Of course I could have left early, but I had to wait around for a certain extra-helpful little do-gooder."
Cameron rolled her eyes. Okay, so he was definitely still being stubborn.
"You're not allowed to be mad. I'm the one who's supposed to be mad," she told him. "I'm the one who got treated like property. I thought I was more than lobby art."
House caught the red fuzzy ball in mid-arc and held it tight in strong, sinewy fingers. "You are," he said, reluctantly. Reluctant to admit it because admitting it meant he might have been wrong, not because he didn't know it to be the truth.
"My first day back and you--"
"I know, I know," House interrupted her. "I barged in. I disrespected your status as a doctor here. I'm not worthy to lick your shoes," he rambled on sarcastically.
"House, quit it. I'm supposed to be mad. I'm not supposed to have to reassure you that everything's okay."
House cocked one eyebrow up and glanced over at her. "But it is, right?"
Cameron sighed again, but an exasperated smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Well, I'm in your office waiting for you to drive me back to your place. You do the math."
House nodded and stood up, placed the ball in its usual place of honor on his desk and snatched his jacket from the hook beside the bookcase. He moved to Cameron's side and flipped the lights off before reaching for the door handle. The day hadn't gone as he'd planned and he was eager to leave and forget it.
"House, wait," Cameron said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "What happened today… it can't happen again. You wouldn't have acted that way if Dr. Cuddy had come in and wanted Foreman or Chase."
"Well of course not. I'd be happy to get them outta my hair for a few hours," he said sarcastically.
"House." Her tone held a warning. It felt somewhat strange to her that she actually felt confident enough to use such a voice with him.
"I overreacted," he admitted with a grunt. "Now let's get outta here before you start getting all mushy."
Cameron nodded and hid her grin. The door opened and he let her pass through it before following her, closing and locking it.
"I wouldn't have just left you here," he said as they walked down the hall. He sounded gruff and a little upset that she'd thought he had.
She looked up at him and touched his hand lightly. "I knew that."
During the drive to the townhouse, House had the stereo blasting as usual, so that meant conversation was kept to a minimum and Cameron had a few minutes to think. She watched House's fingers tap out a quick rhythm against the steering wheel and smiled lightly when his head bobbed and he belted out the chorus.
That was when she started reflecting on how few people had seen House the way she was now able to. She could think of only two off the top of her head. Wilson, and House's ex-lover, Stacy. Cuddy was a possible third, but she wasn't sure about that. She knew that she couldn't let it make her soft when he crossed the line into unacceptable behavior, but there was something precious to her about the fact that he would show any emotion at all because of her -- even possessive macho posturing.
The car swung wide onto House's street and Cameron was feeling happy and content when the pulled up to the sidewalk. An instant later and she was feeling startled at just how comfortable it all felt. She'd thought she'd been doing a good job of keeping her head on straight and not letting herself get carried away with thoughts of the future. Not good enough, apparently. It was such a tough line to walk, and she couldn't quite chastise herself for failing after how well they seemed to fit when it was just the two of them alone together.
"Getting out, or planning to sit in the car all night?" House asked, as he shut his door and limped over to the stairs.
She gave herself a mental shake and hurried out of the car, only wincing slightly as she twisted in a way she really shouldn't have. "Lost in thought," she said, joining him on the landing just as he slid his key into the lock.
"Thinking of other ways you and Cuddy can double-team me and take over the hospital?"
"Yup, that's it exactly," she quipped. She sensed that he really was just joking and not hiding a serious problem with sarcastic barbs.
"Well don't get any ideas. Wilson's got my back, and he's a biter."
"I'll have to remember that."
They entered the townhouse, and each immediately went through a familiar pattern of movements. It had been three weeks since Cameron had been with him when he arrived home from the hospital, but her routine came right back to her. It started with her shedding her shoes and coat while House tossed his cane towards the sofa and limped into the kitchen without it.
She knew he was starting dinner and she went to the bedroom to change into comfortable clothes. Her pant-suit was carefully hung up in the closet and she noticed that the jacket she'd planned to wear the next day had a spot on the collar she hadn't seen before. She pulled it off the hanger and stuffed it into the dry-cleaning bag that rested on the floor in the corner. The smell of garlic and onion wafted through the air and she headed into the kitchen.
House had a glass of scotch on the counter next to him, and he'd poured her a glass of wine.
"Peppercorn steak?" she asked as she entered.
"Very good. You don't need glasses," he said, not entirely rudely. "You could do that salad thing you do," he went on, motioning vaguely towards the refrigerator.
She took his semi-snide words in stride and went about her usual task of preparing salad, getting out the plates, and playing sous-chef to House's Emeril routine. He moved the pan off the heat and took a drink before eyeing Cameron's untouched wine.
"Unless you're sneaking painkillers behind my back, you should be fine to drink that," he said. "Of course I may not be the best example to follow."
"No, I know," she said. "I was just waiting for dinner. I took one pill this afternoon. That's all for the day."
House made a distinctly superior sounding huff. "That's what you get for abandoning your post."
She smirked at him and carried the salad to the table. "Okay, Sarge. Whatever you say."
He made a face that indicated he didn't appreciate her mocking, but then turned back to the stove and flipped the two steaks out of the pan and onto the plates. They were joined by a selection of frozen vegetables before he brought them to the table and sat down.
"You forgot your drink," Cameron told him, looking at the half-full glass still sitting next to the stove.
"I'll live," he replied. "Eat up. If I'm not mistaken, the restrictions around certain activities get lifted on Wednesday." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "You'll need your strength."
A year ago his sexual innuendo would have had her looking at the floor or staring at him in open-mouthed surprise. Now she merely blushed and grinned.
"I think I should spend a couple of nights at my place, actually," she said, in between bites.
"What?" House's fork paused on the way to his mouth. His voice turned a little resentful as he said, "I thought you said things were okay."
His adamant tone put Cameron on the defensive. "And I meant it," she told him. "Although if you keep it up you'll be using up your strength alone."
He bit back a retort. "Then why the sudden need for distance?"
"Well for one thing, I need more work clothes, and I need to do laundry over there and clean the place up. I've only been there twice since the surgery."
"I know that. Remember, I'm the one who drove."
She ignored his little rejoinder. "It's still my place," she said. "And anyway, aren't you sick of me getting my cooties all over everything."
"Well that's true," House's sarcastic mode was back on. "You want me to drive you over there after dinner?"
"That sounds like a good idea," she replied. "I'll get things sorted out, and Wednesday I'll make sure I'm well rested," she said with a wink.
The playful nature of her bantering was meant to put House back at ease, and it did, to some extent. She looked back at her plate to mask the fact that she herself felt nervous. She needed a little bit of space to regroup and remind herself that as perfect as everything seemed within the four walls of the townhouse, the outside world could easily intrude and their next fight might not be as easy to solve as the one they'd just had. Her eyes were trained on her food and she didn't see that House was mirroring her actions. He didn't want her to see in his face how much he wanted her to stay.
Dinner was mostly silent after Cameron's announcement that she needed to go back to her apartment, and when she tried starting in on the dishes, House stopped her and said that if he was going to drop her off he wanted to do it and get back before "The OC" started. It wasn't said with any animosity, but with the niggling doubts already in Cameron's mind, it didn't take much to make her feel very small.
She knew that he didn't want her to go. At least she thought that she knew that.
And that was really the problem. As wonderful, strange, messy, peaceful, imperfectly perfect as things had become between them, she still couldn't trust herself. She trusted House. Knew implicitly that he was being as honest with his affections as he could be. But she still had moments; flashes when she doubted that anything good in her life could ever last. She could see one argument too many ripping them apart, or all the unsaid words she believed were there, actually being nothing but her imagination. Those were the moments when she clung to the few memories of him saying that he loved her, or stroking her hair tenderly when he thought she was asleep.
He dropped her off at her place, and she had to lean over to kiss him good night, because he kept the engine running and it was obvious he wasn't planning on coming in. She wasn't sure why that bothered her since the whole reason she'd made him take her home was so that she could be alone, but she realized it was because his actions gave away the fact that he was hurt, annoyed, or possibly both. He did kiss her back, and with his usual enthusiasm, even reaching up to press his hand to the back of her neck, but then he pulled back and stared at the steering wheel. She knew that her pupils were huge, and her breath shallow when they parted, and she forced herself out of the car and down the little path to her front porch.
The roar of the Corvette's engine was loud in her ears as she unlocked her door.
Her apartment was cold after so many days with the heat off, and she hurried around turning on lights as if that would warm the place faster. She still had her coat on when she sat down in the living room, stack of mail clutched to her chest. There had been a small pile of it waiting just inside her door on the ground floor landing. She and House had stopped by a couple of times to get clothes and sort through the mail, and all her bills had already been taken care of, so what remained was mainly junk mail, the weekly free newspapers and a birth announcement from an old med school friend she hadn't spoken to in months. It took less time to go through it than she'd hoped, and she cast about for her next task.
Cleaning. She needed to vacuum and dust, and make sure the bathroom was clean, and maybe change the sheets. Except the apartment had been painfully clean before her surgery, and being unoccupied for three weeks hadn't exactly made it dirty. There was a thin layer of dust on the surfaces, but it was quickly wiped and swept and sucked away.
She wanted more to clean. She didn't want to admit that she what she really wanted was the sound of House's piano playing in her ear and crackling yellow flames in the fireplace. It was while flipping through the clothes in her closet that her ability to push down her thoughts abandoned her. She thought about the suit lying in the bag in the corner of House's bedroom and wondered if he'd drop off the dry cleaning. She speculated about what he was doing at that moment. Probably drinking another scotch and sprawling on the sofa in front of the television. His attention wouldn't really be on the actors though, he'd be brooding about the fact that she'd insisted on leaving. By the time the credits rolled he'd be certain that she'd lied about not being mad because of his stubbornness, and he'd be mad at himself, but then he'd start getting angry that she couldn't let things go, and then he'd take another drink and wander into the bedroom still angry. He'd be sharp and testy with her in the morning, and then it would take days before they felt comfortable around each other again.
Cameron sank down onto the edge of her bed and stared at the suit in her hands. That wasn't how she wanted things to go. She didn't want her insecurities to pluck at the fragile threads of their relationship. She had fled because of fear, and it bothered her that as much as she'd grown, she still fell back into self-defeating thoughts so easily. She could argue that it was House's fault, and that if he'd just be more open with her, then she could be more open with him and she wouldn't need to be afraid, but that was a lie. She'd known exactly who he was and how he was long before she'd fallen in love with him, and yet she'd fallen unreservedly.
He didn't need words to show his commitment to the people he cared about; it was in every private action. If she needed examples other than herself, she just had to look at his friendship with Wilson, or even his semi-dysfunctional relationship with Cuddy. It might not appear that way to the casual observer, but both of those people held special places in his affections. She only had to remember the way he'd touched her face and whispered to her when she'd been coming out of anesthesia to know how much he cared about her, and even if she hadn't heard his murmured words of love, she could remember how he touched her as he washed her hair and know that spoken or not, there was love between them.
She stood up quickly and grabbed two more sets of work clothes, shoved them into a bag and started shutting off the lights in the apartment. She'd be damned if she let things fester overnight. She didn't want to be alone, and she knew he didn't want that either.
In twenty minutes she was parked outside his building and climbing the stairs to his front door. The key he'd given her was in her pocket, and she shoved her hand down and grasped it in long fingers. The street was quiet, and she could hear her own breathing, and the rustle of branches overhead, and the faint tinkling of piano keys on the other side of the door. The key was warm now, in her fist, but she released it and raised her hand to knock instead.
The music stopped and she imagined she could hear the scraping of the piano bench against he wood floor. The sound of his uneven footsteps did touch her ears as he came closer, and she knew he must have looked out the peek hole at her because there was the briefest pause before the door swung open. He stood there, flat expression on his face, leaning on the doorknob instead of his cane.
"What day is it? Am I in a new version of 'The Lost Weekend'? I didn't think you were coming over again until Wednesday."
"I changed my mind," she said, looking up at him.
"What happened to the key I gave you?" he asked grumpily, but before she could pull it out of her pocket he stepped back and ushered her inside. "So what made you come back? I thought your apartment missed you."
"I missed you more."
The last remnants of a scowl slipped from House's face and he shut the door and followed her to the living area. Cameron was standing there somewhat awkwardly, looking around in that same distracted manner that was House's trademark when he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
"So I'm fully forgiven now, eh?" House decided to give her a break and start things off. He was surprised when her eyes latched onto his, denial etched into them.
"No! I mean, there was nothing to forgive. That's not why I left, House. We settled that this afternoon, and I was never really angry with you, I was just annoyed."
"Then why'd you suddenly feel the need for privacy tonight?" House asked, limping over to the piano and sitting down. His cane was resting beside the fireplace and he needed to do something with his hands. The ivory keys filled that role nicely and he lightly pressed out a complicated fingering pattern without really sounding any notes.
Cameron dropped down onto the sofa, feeling almost boneless, and unable to voice everything that was in her head. She cursed herself for not thinking out a neat little script ahead of time.
"I told you, I just needed to get some clothes and check on things," she said, knowing that there was no way he was going to let that slide.
His eye roll was expected, as was his retort of, "Yeah, right."
She was sitting on the far end of the sofa and scooted herself closer to the piano instead, biting back her frustration with herself. "I thought I needed some time alone," she said as honestly as she could.
His playing grew louder, and Cameron recognized Rachmaninoff. "Not finding my company fulfilling enough, eh?" It was amazing how quickly he'd turned to self-loathing even if he tried to make his tone sound like typical sarcasm.
"That's not it," Cameron said, beginning to feel upset at how quickly things were going downhill. "I think I was worried because I've been enjoying it too much." The words were out, and she couldn't take them back, and when she started to look down at her clenched fists, she stared at House instead, wondering what he would say, wanting him to turn around so that she could see his eyes.
His fingers froze in mid-run and the sound echoed off the high ceilings.
"What?" House swiveled on the piano bench and his face held an expression of incredulity as all his assumptions about Cameron's behavior were totally unseated. "Things are too good so you needed to leave? That sounds like something I would say." His eyes had that glint of teasing in them, despite his obvious surprise. Some things were unchangeable, and House's method of coping through snarkiness was one of them. "I expect more sense from you."
Cameron was glad for the way he broke the tension. "You said you wanted me to open up," she said with a shrug. "This is me being open."
"Who knew you had so many layers," House joked again, but his eyes told her that he wasn't really picking on her.
"I know, amazing, isn't it?" she replied, her tiny laugh sounding just a bit nervous.
"I'm not great at this," House said awkwardly, motioning between them. "I don't do sensitive chats. You're going to have to tell me what's on your mind because unlike Wilson I don't Tivo Dr. Phil. I don't know the right questions to ask."
Her deep breath signaled that she was ready to talk.
"I guess I just got a little nervous that things were going too well."
"Too well? How is that possible?"
"It's possible because when they go too well, I get too comfortable and then I forget how fast things can change, and then I end up sobbing over a tombstone or alone in my apartment with the image of you warning me not to trust you," she answered in a rush.
If the words had come any faster, House would have missed half of them. As it was, he had to take a second to comprehend what she was telling him. His face screwed up into an expression that was half puzzlement, half uncertainty.
"I'm not dying," he assured her, "and I'm not planning on dumping you like last night's trash," he added, slightly more harshly. Her doubts hurt him in a way he hadn't been expecting. "I thought we had an understanding."
"We do," she insisted. "Please don't look at me that way."
"What way?" he snapped.
"Like I just ran over your iPod," she said, hoping to at least draw a small smile from him, but he remained straight-faced. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"Except make you think you're in danger of being ditched."
"No," she said vehemently. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. You've been more than I expected. You've been there for me in ways no one else has. I feel more loved when I'm with you than I ever have!" Her voice cracked, and hearing it was enough to make House's throat tighten. "It's just that when things are that good, I can't help but think they're not going to last. That's why I needed to have some space. I told myself that I needed to pull myself together and not get so comfortable, because anything could happen, and I have to be strong because this time… this time I'm not going to get caught by surprise, and this time I'm not going to let it tear me apart." She was almost crying, and her eyes were bright with a sheen of tears, while her face was flushed and one small fist pounded into her thigh with each point she made.
House stood up and moved to the sofa, sitting down quickly and pulling her against his side. "Oh for God's sake, Cameron, don't be such a martyr," he said in a mock surfer-dude voice.
It was unexpected enough to pull a sharp laugh from Cameron and then a few tears spilled over and she tucked her head against his chest to hide them. His hand moved up and down her back soothingly. They sat like that in silence for a few minutes, because when it came to serious words, House was just as tongue-tied as Cameron. He stared at the window, at the reflection of the two of them which was mirrored there against the dark night outside. He'd never had a conversation like this with another woman. He'd never discussed feelings and doubts and fears. Even hopes and dreams had been tabled in favor of present day happenings. He'd never thought about how limiting it actually was to live only for the current pleasure or pain that life doled out on a daily basis.
He looked at the reflection and wanted more than that.
"I'm not perfect," he said, voice tight and rough, rumbling from his chest and tickling Cameron's cheek. "We've been over that before."
"I know," she replied, sounding calmer. "Obviously I'm not perfect either."
"But I'm not planning on going anywhere. I'm not planning on fucking this up, Allison. Maybe you need more words; the kind of words I've always sucked at saying. I can't tell you I'm going to change and turn into someone like Wilson, who has the perfect line for every occasion. I'd be lying."
"I don't want you to change," she said. "I really don't. I don't need words to know how you feel about me."
He heard the truthfulness in her voice and his hand stopped stroking and hugged her closer instead. "Well you must need something."
"Just time," she said, sounding weary and frustrated with herself.
"I can manage that."
She raised her head and her eyes had cleared to leave them looking bluer than usual as she looked at him, marking each detail for future reference. "And this," she said simply, slipping her arms around his midsection. "This is good, too."
He didn't kiss her or trace her face with his fingertips or compare her eyes to stars. He pressed against her back until she was nestled into his chest again, and then he muttered. "Yeah, this is good. I can manage this, too."